


"i've seen your junk before"

by Anonymous



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Body Horror but in a humorous/sexy way, Casual Sex, Pre-Canon, Shapeshifting, TFiEsta2020, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Hey, mister Greg," says Amethyst one night after band practice, very casually, leaning against the speaker as she dips fries from a greasy paper bag into an open can of paint. "Wanna fuck?"In which an offhand comment has an explanation, and it's a good thing Steven never asked.
Relationships: Amethyst/Greg Universe
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous, TFiEsta 2020





	"i've seen your junk before"

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [TFiEsta](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TFiEsta) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Character looks like a kid but is actually idk 40 or a million who cares! And another adult character and them fuck lol
> 
>  **Author's note:**  
>  *hands you this late garbage and runs*

"Hey, mister Greg," says Amethyst one night after band practice, very casually, leaning against the speaker as she dips fries from a greasy paper bag into an open can of paint. "Wanna fuck?"

Greg sputters and nearly drops his guitar. "Aren't you, like, _twelve_?!"

She gives him a weird look. "Dude, I'm like five thousand. So's Rose, probably, since she's from earth, too." She stuffs another fry in her mouth, adding, contemplatively, "I think Garnet 'n Pearl are waaay older than the rest of us, though. Even _I_ don't know how old Pearl is."

"I don't-- are you sure you shouldn't ask--?" Greg glances around, a quick sweep of the empty room before continuing-- "What do you mean, you're five thousand?"

"That I'm five thousand?" she says, like this is completely obvious and not a surprise in the slightest. "We're literally rocks, dude. Time is an eternal abyss or something for us. We don't even have childhoods. We just pop outta the ground, like, bam! Grown-ass adults."

Greg frowns, slightly. "Then why do you look...?"

"I _like_ looking like this. It's fun." Amethyst rolls her eyes. "Anyway, it was a serious question. Do you wanna bang? 'Cause I'm down for that tonight."

Greg's face turns very red as he contemplates the idea. In all honesty, he was really hoping for _Rose_ , and he feels... weird, about doing anything with Amethyst, even with the sudden revelation that she's supposedly older than most human civilizations. Then again, so is Rose, apparently?

God, these guys are more alien than he realized. Every time he thinks he knows what he's doing, one of them throws him a curveball like this.

He's all set to say "Maybe not today", but what comes out of his mouth is instead, "Sure, why not."

Amethyst's eyes light up with a grin.

"On one condition," he adds. "Wash your hands."

"Yeah, fair," she says, licking the last of the paint and fry-grease off of her fingers.

"With soap and water," he clarifies, but she waves him off around a mouthful of paper bag.

"I got ya, I got ya. No greasy fingers in the caboose." Another bite, and the rest of the paper bag disappears. "Don't worry, I'm not _that_ kinda slob."

*

"So if you just 'pop out of the ground', what exactly do you use for...?" he asks, a bit sheepish.

"Magic," says Amethyst, waggling her fingers. "We can shapeshift, remember?" Her eyes sharpen, mischievous. "Hey mister Universe, ever been pegged?"

Greg nearly chokes on his own spit. Amethyst pats him on the back.

"Aw, well. Vanilla it is, then." She only sounds a little disappointed.

"It's fine," he insists, once his windpipe starts cooperating again. "I mean, I wasn't thinking of that, but if you're really interested, I'm not _opposed_ to it?"

"I just wanted to see your face, but sure." Amethyst's hand stays on his shoulder, lingering like a lazy cat, not quite warm, but weighty. It feels like a reminder of her intentions, and he can't say he's entirely opposed to it.

"So do you want to come back to the van, or did you have somewhere in mind?" Greg asks. He regrets the question almost immediately, because five thousand years old or not, _wanna climb into the back of my van?_ will probably never stop sounding creepy, but Amethyst rescues him with a counter-offer.

"I mean, I was just gonna do it in my room," she says, shrugging out a lazy gesture to the temple door. "I've got loads of places to fuck in there. Even a couple of beds."

"... yeah, sure, that sounds fine. Beds are good." Greg hasn't actually slept on a bed in months. He wonders if he might convince Amethyst to part with a spare mattress at some point. Might be nice, even just to add some padding to the back of the van.

Amethyst mock-bows, sweeping low, and gestures to the temple door. It slides open from a split down the middle by some kind of magic he won't try to guess at, dripping and trailing purple strings like drool. Greg can't help picturing it like a mouth, jaws parting -- or maybe something a little dirtier. 

" _Entre-vous mi casa_ ," she says, and when he hesitates, she takes the lead, sauntering past the threshold as he more timidly follows along. "C'mon, door's not gonna bite."

He takes a step inside, and his jaw drops.

The room on the other side of the door is less a room, and more a junkyard in a cave, scale and all. Crystalline stalactites hang in clusters from the ceiling like ballroom chandeliers, and stream feeds a clear natural pond, twenty feet away, right there in the stone ground. There's not really any normal furniture -- instead, it's all piles of _stuff_ , like a thousand storage units and pawn shops dumped their contents out into a single space, with the rare couch or table or random household appliance tossed into the mess are random. There is literally an entire telephone pole sticking out of one of the piles like a trophy, alongside the hood of a car with a busted headlight and a Keystone license plate. Every object of note raises more questions than answers.

At first, a part of him thinks this can't _possibly_ be all just Amethyst's room. It's so big, he can't imagine it taking up any less than the entire cliffside behind the statue, and the stalactites and the pond don't help. However, the gems are weird and magic enough he has to revise that take (also, he's seen Pearl lose her marbles over crumbs on the temple floor; she would never survive here.) Maybe the whole place is just like the picture booth from Physician Whom -- that is, a whole lot bigger on the inside

" _Whoa_ ," he breathes, and Amethyst grins proudly.

"Sweet pad, right?" she says. "Always nice to see someone appreciates my style. Pearl's always complaining about it being a trash heap. I've told her that's the point, but she just doesn't get it. Anyway, it's bedtime! The _fun_ kind."

She laughs at her own joke, and Greg can't help joining in.

It takes a few minutes of looking, but eventually, Amethyst leads him to a surprisingly nice four-poster bed on the far side of the pool, piled high with mismatched pillows and ugly floral sheets like something straight out of a rummage sale. The junk towers surround it on most sides -- he finds a washing machine, another partial car, a cutoff cargo container, and a refrigerator just at first glance -- and give the whole space a decent semblance of privacy, though he's not sure it makes a difference with how big and cluttered the whole room is.

Amethyst hops onto the bed, swinging her legs against the side, and pats the pillows with a wink. Greg is... not sure how sanitary any of this is, looking at the bed, but he's pretty sure the gems don't carry human diseases, at least. He's probably had sex somewhere grosser than this, too -- the back of his van isn't exactly getting wiped down on a regular basis, and neither was that place after prom.

He joins her, pulling his shirt off over his head and stretching his shoulders, then wadding up the shirt into a ball in his lap. "Nice," she says, admiringly, and his cheeks grow a little warm.

"So," says Greg, "I guess let's do this?"

She laughs. "Oh, yeah. Okay, gimme a second."

Her eyes close, and she sticks her tongue out a little, concentrating. Greg watches, fascinated, as Amethyst's clothing melts away like paper dissolving in water, until it's just her smooth purple skin clinging to her curves, with her gemstone still prominent on her chest. 

She pulls herself up into a goblin-like crouch that puts her thick legs apart, and he can see something heaving and rippling between them. It looks like a clit, if a clit could move of its own accord, and Greg finds himself suddenly very turned on in a way he doesn't even know how to explain.

"I was thinking something like this," she says, still totally casual, "But I might switch it up a bit later if you're cool with that. The more the merrier, y'know?"

"Yeah," he replies, not quite thinking. "Wow."

"Wanna stick your dick in this?"

He swallows. "Absolutely."

Amethyst laughs, and parts her legs a little wider. "Let's have some fun, then, huh?"

*

"How's this?" he asks, and she squeezes around him so hard it nearly takes his breath away. Whatever she's made is _way_ more responsive than anything he's ever put his dick in before. There's something in it that feels suspiciously like a tongue, too, wrapping around him and teasing at the sensitive bits.

She makes a low, rumbly sound of satisfaction, like a mountain lion purring. "I've got like, six clitorises right now. It's _all_ good."

He's underneath her, so when she bucks her hips against him, he's braced against the mattress, and damn if he wouldn't consider being on the bottom more often, if it was always like this. His own body mirrors hers, arching up from the mattress ever so slightly, his white-knuckled grip on his wadded-up shirt like her stubby fingers on the pulled-down waist of his jeans.

He's about to say something when he feels the shape against his crotch expand and shift, and the glow catches his eye, as she extrudes a thin pair of tendrils -- tentacles? -- from either side. They curl around his thighs, warm and faintly wet like the rest of her, and he groans, smiling without a thought.

"You want 'em somewhere good?" she asks, between heavy breaths, and he nods, his face burning.

"Just go slowly, please. I've uh, never done this before."

She pulls back and clenches, closing tightly around his dick, and the tentacles spiral up around his legs, meeting in the middle behind him. One of them probes gently at his ass, and he takes a sharp off-rhythm breath, bracing himself.

"Relax, music man. It's not gonna go in easy if you're all tense." One of her hands wriggles back to grab the cleft of his ass, nails digging in like blunted claws, and he takes another breath, deeper this time, and tries to loosen up.

The tendrils try again, slip-sliding around in their own redoubling moisture, and--

"Holy _shit_!"

He sees stars. Amethyst's laughter, childish and unrestrained, echoes joyfully in his ears, and he just focuses on taking a breath in and out, in and out again, because it feels so wildly good he's almost afraid he'll forget to breathe.

"You like that, music man?" Something wet swipes at his chest, and he thinks it's her tongue, but it could be anything and he'd be good with it, really. 

"God, yes," he says, blinking after a few seconds delay. "Amethyst, holy shit."

"I'm awesome, I know." She leans in, and her tongue passes over his chest again, this time lingering at his nipple to play with it a little. It's not really necessary, but he appreciates it. Their eyes meet, both glazed with the heat of the moment, and he reaches up to touch her chest, putting a hand over her boob. He still thinks it's a little weird that space aliens have boobs, honestly, but he's not complaining. Amethyst's tits aren't super visible when she dresses like a grade-schooler, but they're a nice pair.

He rubs his thumb over her nipple, and he can feel the shiver ripple through the both of them as she grins, making a sound like a cat being pet. Then she shifts again, another thrust onto him, and the tentacles join in a moment later, hitting him from both sides, which is honestly so unfair when he can only offer her one. She moans, low and stuttery on the verge of another giggle.

The cavern ceiling of crystals turns into stars again by the minute's end, and he comes, maybe a little faster than expected, but not too regrettably. He can't quite tell if Amethyst is there yet or not, but she slows down with the dick stuff once he's clearly hit that limit, and instead starts focusing on humping against his leg, so probably not. He offers a hand to help, rubbing at the topmost of the however many clits she apparently gave herself while she scoots back and forth against his thing until she lets out a gleeful whoop, followed by a sigh of relief.

They lay there in the bed for a while. It's nice, and sort of warm, and though the cleanliness is a little suspect, it's much more comfortable than a sleeping bag on a metal floor, or even a foldout couch.

"Man, that was good," says Amethyst, after a minute or so. "I mean, not my best, but probably up there in the top hundred, y'know?" She rolls onto her side to face him. "Rose is gonna like you. Be careful with her. She'll... she'll get sad when you're gone."

He freezes. _When he's gone?_

Right. Of course. The gems are ancient. They've outlived humans over and over again. Greg doesn't hold any delusions about being different, but it's a heavy thing to think about, and not one he'd like to consider so soon.

"Well..." he begins, looking for a reply. "I hope this is good, while it lasts, at least. I might not last long, but I'll be a shooting star while I'm here, you know?"

She rolls onto her back again, to look back up at the cavern ceiling with him. The lights twinkle above in the underground twilight, and her voice turns strangely soft. "A shooting star, huh?

"It sounds like you, mister music man." A deep, slow breath, almost in time with his. "I really hope you are."


End file.
